She also told him she thought Ali, with her sweet smile and infectious laugh, would be a wonderful match, and this had made him blush. “Mom, I’m only seventeen.”
“You’re almost eighteen, Mase,” she’d said, “and I want you to be happy. I want you to find a girl who’ll love you with all her heart. You deserve it, and I know Ali loves you. . . . I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”
He’d nodded, trying to fight back tears. If she wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t going to, either, because he knew it would make her sad.
Finally, as her disease progressed, it became evident that her treatments weren’t working, and she’d asked him to bring a notebook. “There’s no mortgage,” she’d said as she jotted things down. “There is a home equity line of credit, though—I took it out when we remodeled the kitchen, but my life insurance will more than cover it.” She’d smiled. “You’ll even be able to paint that old jalopy of yours.”
“It’s a muscle car,” he’d said softly.
“I know,” she’d said with a smile.
Then she turned back to the notebook and wrote down every account number and password she could think of, as well as the name of her attorney—Beau Bartholomew—who, she assured him, was getting her affairs in order. He knew she was trying to think of everything in case she wasn’t around, but the whole process just made his heart ache.
“Did you send the deposit to Georgia Tech?” she’d asked, looking up.
He’d shaken his head.
“Why not?” she’d asked, frowning. “Mason, it’s what you’ve always wanted and worked so hard for. All through high school, it’s been your dream to go to Georgia Tech. . . . You can’t let it go!”
“I can’t go to college right now, Mom,” he’d said.
“I know you’ve been putting your life on hold, Mase, but I really wish you’d sent in the deposit . . . just in case you change your mind. It would be good for you. . . . It would keep you busy and it would keep your mind off things.”
“It wouldn’t keep my mind off things.”
“What will you do then?” she asked softly. “In the fall?”
“I don’t know, Mom. Maybe I’ll be taking care of you.”
“Maybe you could call them and . . .”
“I’m not calling. It’s too late—the deadline already passed.”
She’d shaken her head. “I wish you’d sent it in.” And like any good mom, she’d continued to press him. “You could call them and explain everything and maybe they would let you . . .”
“I’m not, Mom. Please understand—I can’t think about that right now.”
“Okay,” she’d said finally. “I’m sorry for pushing you.”
“It’s okay.”
“There’s one other thing,” she’d said, smiling and searching his eyes. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”
Mason had sighed, already knowing what it was.
“I want you to promise me you’ll try to find her. . . . I know she would want you to.”
He’d frowned. “How do you know?”
“Because all those years ago, I saw the look in her eyes.”
Mason had looked away—he hadn’t wanted to promise, but she’d reached for his hand. “Promise me, Mason . . .” she’d said, and it was almost a demand.
Mason had bitten his lip and fought back tears. “I promise.”
THERE WAS A SOFT KNOCK ON THE FRONT DOOR AND MASON LOOKED UP. He started to push back his chair, but Ali was already coming down the hall with her backpack slung over her shoulder and a blueberry pie in her hands. “Hey,” she called cheerfully, “when you didn’t answer, I just came in. . . .” But when she reached the kitchen, she saw the look on his face and stopped. “You okay?”
Mason nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” She glanced at the table and saw the unfinished—and now cold—soup and sandwich. “I’m sorry . . . I thought you’d be done by now.”
“I am,” he said, picking up his plate and bowl and bringing them to the counter. “I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”
Ali frowned. “You still want to study? Cuz if you don’t, you know . . . I can just . . . go.”
Mason shook his head and looked out the window. “I want you to stay.” The last thing he wanted was to be alone—not tonight . . . not ever.
“Okay,” Ali said, placing the pie on the counter. She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a small glass Pyrex with a plastic lid. “My mom made whipped cream for the pie . . .” But when Mason didn’t reply, she added, “I’ll just stick it in the fridge.” She opened the door of the refrigerator and was surprised by the emptiness of the shelves. “Mase, have you been eating anything?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’ve been eating.”
“Well, you need to go food shopping because there isn’t much in here.” She paused. “I’ll go with you if you want . . .” Ali walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked softly.
Mason nodded, gazing out the window at the tire swing hanging from the ancient oak tree in the backyard. He still remembered the day his mom had hung it there. He’d held the ladder while she’d climbed, rope in hand, and secured it over a low-hanging branch. He could almost hear her voice reminding him not to let go of the ladder.
“Did you see your mom today?”
He nodded again.
“How is she?”
“The same,” he said, tears springing to his eyes. He quickly wiped them away—he was so damn tired of crying. “She was sleeping—they have her on these really strong pain meds that make her sleep all the time.” He shook his head. “She’s going to sleep away what little time she has left. I honestly think she’s just holding on till graduation.”
“Do you think she’ll be able to come?”
“She says she is, but I don’t know . . .”
“Oh, Mase, I’m sorry.” Ali rested her head on his shoulder.
Mason nodded and slipped his
